Distractions
by Some Jedi Girl
Summary: Plot-what-plot? Het and fluff. Faramir is playing with a bunch of dusty books, so Eowyn must distract him. Rated for whoopee.


Distractions __

by SomeJediGirl

Please write with comments to somejedigirl@aol.com

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Author's Note: Plot—what plot? Sex and fluffiness. **WARNING**: Contains a bit of sex. Please do not read if you are underage or easily offended. This is for Melinda and Sabrina.

This story depicts a bit of perfectly consensual lovemaking between two married adults, and features no "C" words or graphic descriptions of fluids or body parts. Certainly nothing more explicit than what is found in your garden-variety historical romance, and I was reading those at 11. I am not an unreasonable person, and am not out to offend any sensibilities or pervert the young. J 

A summer sunset in Minas Tirith was not a sight to be missed. The city's stark white stone walls glowed a benevolent orange-pink, their harsh angles softened by the heat and humidity-generated haze that hung about them like a curtain. 

Eowyn paused on an arched crosswalk and took a moment to admire the view. She had been searching for her husband for half an hour already, and a few minutes more would not make a difference. She could appreciate man-made beauty as much as the next person, even if her heart ever longed for the plains and the wild places of the world. She only wished she was not watching it alone.

At that thought, she moved on to continue her search. A few steps brought her to a bizarre intersection of stairways, two going up to the street above, and one leading down into darkness. That was where she needed to go. Some thoughtful soul had stashed lanterns on the landing, and Eowyn lit one and took it down with her.

The underbelly of the White City provided a stark contrast to its shining counterpart above. The dark stairs ran to a deep and musty corridor into the mountain. Faramir had told her about these passageways early in their marriage; about the secret rooms where treasures and records and provisions were stored. He had always found them fascinating, even as a boy. Eowyn found them cold and dark and dusty. She could not help but compare them to the Glittering Caves behind Helm's Deep—there the stark exterior hid indescribable beauty, instead of the other way around.

She traveled the dark corridor for a considerable distance before encountering a destroyed wall next to an empty cellar room. The story she'd heard was that a few days ago, some servants had been working down here on the order of the king, who wished to have the cellars cleaned and inventoried. They'd knocked out a stone and found a passage unknown even to the city's lore-keepers. 

The king, knowing Faramir's love of old and dusty things, had sent his Steward to explore the rooms and catalog anything of value. And so Eowyn had not seen her husband since. Tonight she was determined to find him, if only to exchange greetings. It was rare that they saw each other so little, especially when both of them were in the same city. 

As she trod down the hallway, the sound of a man's humming wafted back to her on echoes, relieving the monotony of her own footsteps clopping on stone. She followed the noise to a dark opening which was surrounded on either side by stacks of books and bits of furniture. A lantern sat in front of the inwardly-propped-open door, emitting a weak light. "Faramir?" she called into the room, hesitantly.

"Eowyn? Ah!" She rounded the corner to see her husband's dusty face outlined in the yellow glow. He was sitting on the stone floor with an old wooden box in front of him, its former contents spread about his lap. "You brought a lantern? Good—bring it over here. My own is dying and I am trying to see something--"

"Am I to have no other welcome? I have not seen you for days!

Faramir waved this off with the maddening nonchalance of the long-married man. "I have been busy. Did you not get my message? The things I have found—you must see—did you bring any water with you?"

Eowyn just shook her head in reply. She had received his messages but had only been willing to put up with his absence for a few days before seeking him out. But she did not want to say that to him aloud.

She looked around a bit but could not see much in the yellow dimness except stacks of old furniture and books, covered with grime and ancient cobwebs. "Where are the servants who were assigned to help you?" she asked.

"I sent them away. They kept getting underfoot. I am sure they will soon return."

"Hmmm."

"Only look at these scrolls I have found!" Faramir said, and proffered several rolls of cracked and yellowed parchment for her desultory inspection. "They appear to be but ledgers, payrolls and such, but they are ancient! And look at this--"

Eowyn crossed her arms to hug away the chill, and resigned herself to a recitation of the dusty wonders he had uncovered. She wondered how he was staying warm. He had discarded his cloak and worked only in his shirtsleeves, and though his trousers were old, the shirt he'd inexplicably chosen to wear had once been fine. Now it had been sacrificed to the lure of cobwebby discovery. As he spoke and gestured, picking up random items and describing their significance, he sent more dust motes scurrying about to dance in the light of the lanterns. Eowyn sneezed.

"I am sorry!" Faramir said, interrupting himself, and the look that crossed his dirty face appeared contrite. "Here. If you will help me with one thing, I can finish for the night."

"Gladly."

"Only see, when I picked up these scrolls, I knocked some behind this chest. We cannot move it, but I believe I could slide underneath—bring both lanterns and hold them above here—no! Wait!"

"What?" Eowyn asked, as she picked up the lantern wedged by the door to carry it over. When she heard the door thud closed behind her, she understood. "Oh."

Faramir released a sigh and leaned back on his hands. "It cannot be opened from the inside. I have tried."

"Done this before, have you?"

Faramir blew out a breath that sent flying a lock of hair that had fallen over his eye. As well as more dust. "Indeed. Well, someone will be along soon. Bring the lanterns over," he said, and reclined to the stone floor, pushing himself under the furniture with his boots until she could only see him from mid-torso down. 

"Very well. But be quick!" she said, and hefted the lamps to shine behind the chest. For a few moments it was silent but for the sounds of his rummaging underneath.

Faramir finally broke the stillness. "Eowyn? Ptuh!" he spat, having obviously eaten something unappetizing. Then he continued. "Perhaps tomorrow I will bring the boys with me. They would enjoy digging through here."

Eowyn smiled to herself in agreement with that statement. Her eldest, Elboron, was seven years old and already as mad about books as his father. Beren, at four, would have no lack of things to do, either. "They would indeed," she said. "You could show Elboron your dusty books--"

"And Beren could—ptuh!—chase the spiders."

"And break everything."

She could hear his muffled chuckle from under the chest. "Perhaps it would not be wise to bring them after all."

Eowyn didn't answer, but relaxed in their forced solitude. And listened to the sounds of her husband doing what he loved best, and thought about her children. Lately, she had found herself wishing they had another. A daughter, perhaps—one she could raise with a backbone of steel, unlike so many of the other well-born girls in Gondor—and one that would break the monotony of sons in the lineage of the stewards. A daughter that would make her family irrevocably different from that of her husband's, and of the ill-fated woman who had been a steward's wife before her. She voiced part of her thoughts out loud. "I have been wishing we could conceive another child…"

Faramir went very still for a moment. "Now?"

"Nay," she laughed. But then she thought, why not? She was alive, her husband was alive and here with her, and thus she was already more fortunate than that other woman before her. Eowyn silently admired what little of Faramir she could see. His legs were long, and his trousers snug. With his military duties he had managed to stay fit, unlike Eowyn, who had gained a few pounds at the hips from bearing two children. Chasing after those two, as well as regular exercise, certainly kept her from expanding further. But sometimes she envied the ability of men to eat like horses and still look as inviting as ever. 

In fact, he was so inviting she wanted to make sure he _was_ real. Half-knowing and half-caring about what she was doing, Eowyn set the lanterns above him where they would still shine behind the chest, then moved over to straddle his knees. She pressed the heel of her palm on his abdomen, then splayed out her fingers to massage the muscles of his belly.

She felt his body seize as she did it, then heard a muffled thump and a curse. _That must have been his head,_ she thought idly, enjoying the warmth, the _realness_ of his body beneath her fingers. It had been too long since she'd been this close to him.

"Eowyn, let me up," he said. She could tell he was trying to sound stern, but she could hear the note of breathlessness fluttering underneath.

"Hmmm?" she said, intent on what she was doing. She yanked at the fine white cloth of his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, then bent to place a kiss above his navel. She savored the salty taste of his skin, and the feel of the fine hairs beneath her lips. 

"Eowyn…" he said again, and started to wriggle beneath her, but she only sat more firmly on his knees and held the sides of his hips with her hands. 

"What?" she breathed against his skin, all innocence. She nuzzled a line further up his stomach, enjoying the catch of his breath as she did so. 

He didn't reply, but kicked one leg out from under her and knocked her on the shoulder with his boot. With her hands at his sides she wasn't balanced, and she toppled over onto the stone floor with a "whoomph!"

In a scant few seconds Faramir had scrabbled out from under the chest and rolled to his knees in front of her, whereupon he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up against him to kiss her hard. He had not kissed her like _that_ in a very long time. 

After a few minutes of breathing nothing but him, Eowyn pulled back for air. She rather thought she preferred him to the musty atmosphere of the cellar. She allowed his lips to continue their assault down over her chin, then to graze the sensitive skin between her jaw and ear. He had the softest lips, she thought, as pleasurable little chills arced down her spine. It was difficult to remain rational at such a moment, but Eowyn gave it her best try. "Did you not say the servants would be back soon?" she whispered against his ear, only a little breathless.

"We will hear them coming," he murmured, then rocked back on his heels and pulled her prone on top of him, wrapping his arms around her. He only winced a little as the back of his head met the cold, hard floor.

Eowyn wondered what she had gotten herself into. Like with everything Faramir did, when his interest was aroused he became very single-minded. She didn't complain but enjoyed her momentary captivity, burrowing into his warm, lean frame beneath her. If stolen bits of time here and there were all they could be allowed, then Eowyn for one was going to savor them. And, she had to admit to herself, the small threat of discovery made it all the more exciting. 

She imagined the servants opening the door to find their lord and lady rolling amid the dirt and cobwebs like common maids and stableboys, and laughed out loud.

"What is it?" Faramir broke off his maddening exploration of her shoulder to hold her away and look at her. The dim light did not allow her to read the expression in his eyes, but she could feel the evidence of his desire pressing against her thigh. 

"Nothing. 'Tis nothing," she bent down to murmur against his full lower lip. He opened his mouth against hers and kissed her again, more gently this time. She felt his hands pull her dress out from under her knees, then his fingers on her bare skin, pressing up against her thighs, dragging her skirts and undergarments with them on their journey. She propped her forearms against the cold stone on either side of his head to steady herself as his cool, calloused palms slid around her backside to pull her hard against him.

Eowyn gasped against his mouth, and wondered if he could feel the tiny pulse that beat deep within her abdomen, forming the familiar, lovely ache from his touch. He only made it worse by slipping his thumbs around her hips to caress the all-too-susceptible skin at the juncture of her thighs.

She pushed herself against him, silently begging his fingers to do more, but he pulled his lips away from hers to stare at her for a moment. "Eowyn—help?"

"Oh!" she said after a moment, and rocked back to sit on his shins. Despite the shaking of her desire-fumbled fingers, she made short work of the opening of his trousers. He lifted his hips to help her slide them down, and the sight of his arousal against his stomach proved just how very much he wanted her.

Eowyn slid a finger along its dry heat, enjoying his hitch of breath as she did so. She briefly considered teasing him a little more, but the call of her own body said nay. Some deep, womanly urge for pleasure and children yearned for the intimacy that only joining could bring. She grasped him more firmly, then crawled forward on her knees until she hovered atop him just right, and pushed herself down until their abdomens touched and she felt herself stretching to encompass him.

Faramir released a half-sigh, half-laugh as if he understood the ridiculousness of their situation, but then his hands gripped her thighs and urged her to move.

Propping herself up again she complied, moving forward to give him a quick kiss before falling back with a happy moan. She did it again a few more times, slowly, luxuriating in the feel of him sliding inside her. She moved to her own rhythm, reveling in the silence broken only by her husband's ragged breathing.

However, she was obviously not moving fast enough for _him_. Faramir raised himself from the floor till he was sitting and enclosed her in tight arms, pulling her close until they were cheek to cheek. He jerked his forearms against the small of her back, hauling her against him so hard that the contact jolted through her with a pleasure that was almost painful. 

Far from minding the position he'd dictated, Eowyn decided that this felt very nice, too. She laid her head on his shoulder and hugged his back for support, hands caressing the muscles that clenched and untensed with every squeeze his arms gave her.

Her hips joined his pace as she held him tight, turning her head to taste with her lips the salty sweat that formed on his throat at his exertion. She breathed her pleasure into his ear, winding her fingers through the long, soft hair at the nape of his neck. Of a sudden he rose and pitched forward, pressing her beneath him, getting the leverage to drive himself into her harder. His arms supported her back but at his forceful thrusts her head fell backwards, right into the stone floor.

"Ow," she said, then forgot the pain as her every nerve swelled and burst in release, forcing his own climax moments afterward. Faramir collapsed on top of her for a moment, chest heaving from activity and spent passion, but slid a hand up her back to cradle her poor abused head. 

"I am sorry," he said with an infuriatingly male smugness, then pushed forward to give her a quick smack on the lips. He didn't pull away, however, but continued to breathe atop her, cradling his head at her breastbone. 

"You!" she said, half-laughing, and gave a little ineffectual shove at his shoulders, as if trying to dislodge him. "Should you not get up and get back to work?"

"You said you wanted another child…" he said and raised his head to grin at her unrepentantly.

"Oh!" _Single-minded could be useful_, she thought, _but this was too much_. She decided to tease him again. "I think I hear footsteps!"

"No, that is only the beating of my heart."

"You and your poetry!" she laughed, secretly pleased. "For punishment, I _will_ let you bring your sons here tomorrow, while I--" Eowyn stopped as an echoing sound reached her ears. Those were _definitely_ footsteps. Several pairs, if she was not mistaken. 

Faramir had obviously heard them too. He rolled off her and jumped to his feet, pulling her up with one hand while trying to fasten his breeches with the other. Eowyn smoothed down her skirts—thankfully she'd worn old clothing today—and brushed the cobwebs from her hair. 

Faramir swept the dirt around on the floor, trying to erase the evidence that two bodies had been there recently. When he had stirred up the dust to his satisfaction, he grabbed the box of scrolls he'd been sorting through earlier and shook them at her. "I am ready. Are you?"

Eowyn only sneezed in reply.

"Very well," he said, then turned to knock on the door and call loudly for help.

THE END.

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